She flew across the marble hall, remembered she’d left her handbag in the sitting room and changed direction, coming to an abrupt halt just inside the door as four startled faces met her gaze.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Her cheeks flooded with colour and she edged backwards, vainly trying to hold her sarong in front of her to cover her tiny gold bikini.
Rafe had jumped to his feet while the other three men, Fabrizzio and two associates, stared at her expressionlessly. ‘Eden, I thought you were upstairs, dressing for dinner.’
‘Obviously not,’ she quipped, trying to disguise her mortification with a smile.
‘I must have fallen asleep by the pool.’
Fabrizzio Santini sat back in his chair and surveyed her clinically, as if she were a prize heifer in a cattle market. ‘Buona sera, Eden. Rafael mentioned you were staying at the villa for a while.’ He paused fractionally and then murmured, ‘I hope you are recovering well from your accident. I see you have been left terribly scarred.’ The solicitude in his voice disguised the sting, but Eden felt it anyways and immediately tried to hide her injured leg behind the other one, lost her balance and would have fallen but for Rafe’s biting grip as he caught hold of her arm.
Round one to you, Fabrizzio, she thought darkly, not taken in by his smile, and as soon as she had stepped through the door she shrugged free of Rafe’s hold.
‘What are you playing at? I thought you were getting ready,’ he hissed, and she glared at him, her temper at boiling point.
‘I told you. I fell asleep. I didn’t get much last night, if you remember.
There’s still an hour until your guests arrive, apart from the early birds,’ she added sarcastically. ‘And was it really necessary for your father to mention my leg?’
‘Dio, you are impossible sometimes. He was offering his sympathy, and no doubt trying to draw attention away from the fact that you were cavorting through the house half naked in front of the company’s bankers,’ said Rafe coldly. ‘You’d better go and shower. And don’t argue, you don’t have time.’
Boiling him in oil would be too good for him, she thought bitterly half an hour later as she struggled with the zip of her dress. He was the most arrogant, annoying, chauvinistic male she’d ever met, and the tears that stung her eyes were from anger, not the loss of the closeness they’d shared in Venice.
To her amazement, dinner was not the ordeal she had dreaded. When she walked down the sweeping central staircase Rafe was waiting at the bottom for her and for a moment was unable to disguise the flare of hunger in his eyes as he took in her full-length, white halter-neck dress that displayed her curves and golden, tanned shoulders. Far from him wanting to hide her away, his voice rang with quiet pride when he introduced her to the array of business associates and their wives, and gradually Eden felt herself relax.
Fabrizzio was surprisingly courteous; indeed, it was he who insisted that everyone should speak in English rather than Italian, in deference to Eden, and Rafe felt his tension ease. Eden was wrong about his father. She’d obviously misunderstood his attitude towards her four years ago but she was older now and her new confidence meant she would be better equipped to deal with the strong-willed old man.
There had been no subterfuge between Fabrizzio and Gianni. No covert plan to rid her from his life. Gianni had lied; he had to accept that along with the fact that he would never know why. But his little brother had tried to make amends.
He recalled a conversation between them months before Gianni had taken the overdose. In the throes of a deep depression, Gianni had suddenly taken great interest in his life and had questioned him on his future plans, what he would do when his racing days were over and the likelihood that he would marry and give Fabrizzio the grandchildren he longed for. Rafe had shrugged, his answer noncommittal, not daring to point out that Gianni had wrecked his relationship with the only woman who had ever been more to him than a brief diversion. Maybe his brother had understood more than he let on, he mused.
‘Eden was always the girl you believed her to be.’ Gianni’s words still rang in his head, hardly an admission that he’d lied, but they had added weight to the decision he’d already made to find her, if only to bury the past and all its bitterness for good.
It was late when Rafe’s guests departed, and Eden gave a deep sigh of relief as she wandered into the sitting room and kicked her shoes off before collapsing onto the sofa. It had been a good evening, better than she’d hoped for, and she smiled as a slight movement from the terrace caught her attention.
‘Rafe, what are you doing out there?’
‘Rafael is taking a phone call in his office.’ Fabrizzio Santini walked through the French doors and Eden’s smile faded at the cold contempt in his eyes.
‘I see,’ she murmured quietly, and he gave a harsh laugh.
‘I wonder if you do, Eden. Tell me, how long do you intend to act as my son’s whore this time?’
‘I don’t need to listen to this.’ Eden jumped up and headed for the door. Four years ago his patent dislike of her had unnerved her and she hadn’t dared to stand up for herself, but a lot had changed since then. ‘I don’t know what you have against me, but out of respect for Rafe I think you should keep your feelings and your insults to yourself.’
She made to sweep past him but he gripped her wrist, so hard that she knew she would find bruises there later. ‘I will not stand by and watch my son make a fool of himself over a cheap little nonentity,’ he informed her in his gravelly, heavily accented voice. ‘I thought I’d succeeded in getting rid of you four years ago, and I tell you now, Rafael will never marry you.’
Appealing to the swarthy Sicilian’s softer side was a waste of time, Eden acknowledged. Fabrizzio wouldn’t rest until he’d evicted her from Rafe’s life once more and he was cunning enough to manipulate events in a way that wouldn’t alert his son’s suspicions. Attempting to convince Rafe of Fabrizzio’s hatred of her would be futile. Rafe adored and respected his father, the Santini blood ran thick and, although he had finally chosen to believe her over Gianni, his loyalties would be stretched to breaking point if she asked him to choose between her and Fabrizzio.
Fabrizzio’s biggest fear, it seemed, was that Rafe would marry her. If only he knew how unlikely that was, she thought bleakly. There was no chance, and even less now that Fabrizzio had thrown down the gauntlet. Somehow she had to convince the older man that he had nothing to fear from her, that marriage to Rafe was the last thing she wanted. At least then he might leave them alone and wait for the affair to run its course.
‘Actually, I have no intention of marrying your son,’ she said coolly, and Fabrizzio gave her a disbelieving glare.
‘I find it hard to believe that you don’t want to get your claws into the Santini fortune.’
Eden shrugged. ‘The price is too high. I don’t want to live my life in a goldfish bowl, my every move reported in the tabloid Press. I’d be happy to settle for an English country house, a few acres of prime estate that I can cash in if necessary.’
Fabrizzio stared at her with his beady black eyes, as if he could see inside her head, and she shivered but held her ground, determined not to feel intimidated.
‘And you think Rafael will buy you this house?’
‘I’m working on it.’
‘Perhaps I should warn my son that his English rose is a mercenary little bitch, available to the highest bidder.’
Nausea swept over her at his vile insinuations, but she lifted her head and met his gaze. ‘Perhaps he already knows,’ she suggested coolly. ‘You have nothing to fear from me, Signor Santini. My relationship with your son is based on the most primitive of needs. To put it crudely, Rafe will slake his appetite and I will expect payment. I grew out of dewy-eyed romanticism a long time ago—four years ago, to be precise.’
Fabrizzio Santini had probably never been lost for words before, and Eden took pleasure in his momentary uncertainty. The expression on his face would be funny if she wasn’t so close
to tears.
‘So for both of you it is a casual sexual liaison.’ He assessed her with a speculative gleam in his eyes. ‘Forgive me, but I’m not convinced. Four years ago you were in love with my son. What’s changed?’
‘I have, signor. I’ve grown up.’
She made her escape then before she broke down and spoilt the illusion that she had a heart of stone. A shower washed away her tears but it was harder to scrub Fabrizzio’s contempt from her skin, and she wondered just what she’d done to make him despise her so much. The simple answer was that he was desperate for his remaining son to produce grandchildren with aristocratic Italian blood, and he’d seen her as a threat. Now that the threat, the fear that Rafe would choose her as his wife, was gone, perhaps he would leave them both alone.
There was no sign of Rafe when she slid into bed, and she guessed he was still working before they flew to Indianapolis for the next race of the season. She wished he would come to bed—she needed his solid strength and the reassurance of his touch—but eventually she fell asleep alone, and it was the early hours before he entered the bedroom to stare down at her with eyes that were as bleak as midwinter.
Chapter 9
Indianapolis in August was hot and dusty. The car wasn’t performing well; Rafe didn’t make pole position on the grid, and, in an effort to lead the race, he pushed the engine too hard. Eden spent an agonising few minutes watching flames spew from the back of the car before he ground to a standstill, relief overwhelming her when she saw him climb out and stride away from the track.
‘You’re lucky you didn’t burn to death,’ she told him when they returned to the hotel. The heat and tension made her feel snappy and Rafe’s unconcerned attitude didn’t help.
‘No one burns to death in Formula 1—the safety measures are stringent,’ he said coolly as he headed for the shower. ‘I’m more at risk of being nagged to death.’
‘That’s not fair.’ Determined to keep his attention, Eden followed him into the ensuite. ‘You have no idea what it feels like to watch a car go up in smoke, knowing you’re still inside, although why I care beats me.’ She glared at him, hands on her hips, her anger dissolving as she watched him shower. His body was to die for, she conceded, her eyes drawn to the way the soapsuds slid over the powerful muscles of his abdomen and then lower, down his thighs. She felt a familiar heat pool inside her and hastily dragged her gaze back to his face, mortification scalding her at the amused glint in his eyes. He knew exactly what she was thinking.
‘Do you care, cara? I didn’t realise.’ That hateful, mocking tone that he used whenever he spoke to her lately was back, and she bit her lip.
‘I know you’re in a foul mood because you lost the race, but actually you’ve been pretty unpleasant since we left Italy,’ she accused miserably. She didn’t understand the reason for his sudden coolness towards her, but the closeness they’d shared in Venice had vanished and, although she’d asked him countless times, he simply shrugged and denied anything was wrong.
Persuading him to confide in her was like banging her head against a brick wall.
He’d perfected stubbornness to a fine art and she was reduced to racking her brains for anything she might have done to upset him. All she could think of was the dinner party he’d hosted at the villa. His guests had been top executives from the business world, bankers, lawyers, and members of the highest echelons of Italian society. Had she inadvertently embarrassed him? she wondered.
Admittedly, she’d felt nervous to begin with, but she hadn’t made any major faux pas, like using the wrong fork or drinking from the finger bowl.
Perhaps the sight of her in her chain-store dress and costume jewellery had brought it home to him that she didn’t fit in his world. She remembered how he had tried to persuade her to wear the pair of exquisite pearl and diamond drop earrings he’d presented her with.
‘I’d be terrified of losing one,’ she had argued as she adamantly refused to try them on. ‘If the sole reason you want me to attend this dinner party is to display the signs of your wealth then let’s forget this relationship here and now.’
Being flaunted in public as his mistress was one thing, but she was determined to hang on to her self-respect, and she couldn’t do that with speculation on just how she had earned such expensive gifts.
‘Are you ashamed of me?’ she demanded huskily now, and he frowned and reached for a towel.’
‘Of course not. What a ridiculous thing to say,’ he snapped. ‘Why do you think I might be?’
‘I don’t wear haute couture or expensive jewellery like the wives of the executives who attended the dinner party.’
‘You could have done. It was your choice not to wear the earrings I bought for you and you have several credit cards at your disposal to buy clothes.’
‘I know, but I prefer to pay for my own things. I’ve told you I’m not interested in your money.’
‘So you have,’ he murmured, and she blinked at the barely leashed fury behind the words. ‘Your parsimony is admirable, cara. Sometimes I wonder what you do hope to gain from our liaison—apart from sex, that is.’
‘That’s a foul thing to say.’ She had followed him through to the bedroom and stopped dead, hurt beyond belief at the deliberate cruelty in his tone. It was as if he was intentionally trying to upset her, and doubts formed thick and fast in her head. Had he tired of her? Had she served her purpose and he was pushing her away, preparing her for the end of their affair? He hadn’t made love to her since their trip to Venice, and celibacy didn’t agree with him, which could only mean one thing. ‘Are you seeing someone else?’
‘Madre de Dio, when would I have the time? You have an insatiable appetite, cara,’ he murmured silkily, and she felt a tide of colour stain her cheeks. He made her sound like a nymphomaniac.
‘Well, I’m sorry if I’m too much for you,’ she said stiffly.
‘Your eagerness to climb into my bed is flattering but sometimes I wonder if there’s an ulterior motive behind it. Can you think of anything, Eden, anything you haven’t told me?’
She shook her head in genuine confusion. ‘You’re talking in riddles, I don’t know what you mean.’
He strolled across the room towards her and she couldn’t drag her gaze from the minuscule towel around his hips that left little to the imagination.
‘Perhaps it’ll come to you,’ he suggested blandly, ‘and in the meantime I have no objection to satisfying your more primitive urges.’
There was something about this conversation that evoked vague memories, a hidden message in his mocking tone that she couldn’t grasp.
‘That’s not a very nice thing to say,’ she whispered, her eyes trapped by his dark, unfathomable gaze, and his slow smile sent ice slithering down her backbone.
‘I don’t feel very nice right now, cara.’ His arm snaked out before she had time to react, his hand gripping her hair to yank her up against his chest. Droplets of water clung to his dark chest hair, heat and the exotic scent of the shower cream he had used assailing her senses, and to her abject shame she wanted to bury her face in him and breathe him in. ‘Let’s do something about those urges, shall we?’ he breathed against her throat, but as she shook her head, murmuring a despairing protest, his fingers tightened in her hair.
‘Don’t even try to tell me you don’t want this,’ he hissed, his lips grazing her skin as he spoke. ‘In this, at least, be honest, Eden. I watched you watching me in the shower and you’re desperate, aren’t you?’ His mouth closed over hers in a kiss that warned of his absolute mastery, and pride demanded she resist, but her body had a will of its own and it was past caring about anything other than assuaging the driving need to feel him inside her.
He was breathing hard when he finally released her swollen lips, and his eyes travelled over her in a slow, assessing appraisal before he gripped the neckline of her dress and wrenched the material from her shoulders so that the buttons that fastened the front flew in all directions.
‘Rafe! You didn’t have to tear it.’ His barely suppressed violence should have appalled her, yet to her shame she was filled with a fierce excitement. He would never hurt her, she knew that, but she recognised the urgency of his desire and it fanned the flames of her own.
‘I’ll buy you another,’ he muttered as he dispensed with her bra, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed the rounded fullness of her breasts. ‘Rest assured, I can afford you, cara.’
‘I don’t want your damned money,’ Eden cried, desperately trying to cling to the edge of sanity while his hands cupped her breasts, and she drew a sharp breath as he lowered his head and lathered one nipple with his tongue before drawing it fully into his mouth.
‘So you keep saying, which only leaves sex, because there’s nothing else between us, is there?’ His vicious taunts made her recoil and she tried frantically to pull away. In reply, he tugged a fistful of her hair until her back arched and he was able to torment her other breast, suckling hard so that she teetered on a fine line between pleasure and pain.
‘Rafe, I don’t want it to be like this,’ she pleaded, ‘not when you’re angry and I don’t even understand why.’ He stiffened at her words but instead of releasing her, he scooped her into his arms and dropped her onto the bed. With one deft movement he stripped her of her knickers and pushed her legs apart with firm intent, before unwrapping the towel from his hips. He was all proud, arrogant male, fiercely aroused, and Eden closed her eyes in despair as the ache between her thighs throbbed unbearably.
‘So stop me,’ he challenged, his voice echoing the hardness in his eyes, and she swallowed.
‘I can’t,’ she admitted on a sob of humiliation and misery at her own weakness, and he entered her with one powerful thrust.
Without the touch of his hands and mouth to arouse her, she was tight but no less ready for him and a groan was wrenched from him as her muscles closed around his shaft. He shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have taken possession of her so fiercely without any foreplay. Disgust at his own brutality made him attempt to withdraw, but she wrapped her long legs around him and held him fast.
His Private Mistress Page 13
